


To Rekindle the Flame

by AutumnSouls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, Dol Guldur, Female Harry Potter, Immortal Harry Potter, Sauron Being an Asshole, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-17 19:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnSouls/pseuds/AutumnSouls
Summary: Lily Potter, the Girl Who Lived, is taken from her home, corrupted, and turned into a servant of Sauron. After being forced to do terrible things, she breaks free and sets out to unite Middle-earth against a Sauron far greater than before. Fem!Harry.





	1. Through Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> It’s as short as it is because I’m not entirely sure if it’s something people would like. It would diverge near the end of the Hobbit, the One Ring wouldn’t play much of a role, and it would follow Lily as she attempts to stop Sauron from taking over Middle-earth. This first chapter is a bit dark, but the rest of the fic certainly wouldn’t be. 
> 
> I’m not really trying to emulate Tolkien’s style here, but rather find a middle ground between his and mine. No idea if it worked well. Leave a review telling me! Actually, if you’d like to see anything in particular in this story — other HP characters, romance, locations — leave a review!

 

 

In a fortress in Mirkwood there screamed a witch.

It was not a normal fortress, filled with knights and horses and swords and shields, nor yet an abandoned one with nothing but dust and dirt and remnants of the past. The name given to it was Dol Guldur, and darkness dwelled within. 

Beneath the black stone, down in the deepest dungeon, shadowed and screaming, lay chained a source of magic unlike any before seen in Middle-earth; boundless in her power, torn from her world and imprisoned for purposes of which she did not yet fully know. 

Ignorant but for the knowledge of vile things made, multiplied, or magnified by her magic; orcs, trolls, wargs, and those which were more dreadful than the dementors they resembled, instilling a terror in her heart that was inexplicable.

_ The Nazgûl.  _

Unlike the guards of Azkaban, which would bring about her worst memories, they seeped into her very soul a kind of horror that had only ever been matched by the presence of Lord Voldemort himself, who was very much dead now and had been for weeks. 

Or perhaps it had been months. 

The sky here was dark and without sun, an eternal night, and with each passing sleep the darkness buried itself deeper. Along with it came the blurring of days, the further loss of hope; and it was replaced with the harsh speech of Mordor — for it was taught and she had no choice but to learn — and the further dismantlement of her identity; her name, her once-beautiful hair, her struggling sanity, and her magic. 

Already it had been put to great use. Terrible, but great. 

The true details remained out of reach, only that it had been used to bring these Nazgûl to greater form and to fuel the power of other things for something most sinister. A war, likely, if her growing grasp of the Black Speech was indeed any grasp at all. 

Though she did not need to know the language to take a guess at that. War was what the wicked wanted. Or rather, victory — victory over all — and if war was what it took to reach it, then so be it, they would think. 

What was torturing a girl just out of her teens to them? 

“Sûr! Sûr, Lilith uth Mor!”

Lily could barely muster the strength to speak, much less lift her head to see the speaker. “That’s not” — she took a breath — “my name...”

Again pain streaked across her face, and her lips burst with blood like crushed cherries. She knew the taste of it well. 

“Gashn tug amukh gashn-u, skessa!” The orc bent over, his face close, his smile terrible, and his breath putrid. “Agh gashn tug izubu Burz Laam!” 

“Daka lat,” Lily said, and the words were foul on her tongue. 

The orc threw his head back and laughed. It echoed through the room and into the dark hallway. Then, as he brought a stone bowl under her chin to collect her blood, he said words which made Lily nearly whimper: “Uth Nazgûl ath katu.” And then again: “Uth Nazgûl ath katu.” When enough blood was collected he stepped back and made for the exit. “Uth Nazgûl ath katu.”

Lily’s insides became cold and sick, and she could find no words, and even if she could she would not say them, for pleading never worked. 

The orc cackled as he exited. “Skriki, Lilith un Mor, skriki!” And other orcs beyond her walls laughed too, and all around echoed the words, “Skriki!” “Skriki!” “Skriki!”

Then the Nazgûl came. 

And such fear was upon her that she could not scream, or beg, or think thoughts that were anything more than loosely coherent. 

The days blurred further. Darkness gathered itself around her — in her very core, it seemed — and she knew she would not withstand the patience of the Nazgûl. 

Or that which dwelled beyond the shadows. 

For it was not the Nazgûl who explored, ripped, and corrupted her magic. No, they came only to make her suffer, to weaken and unmake her mind so that which made  _ them _ could also make her the same. 

New, strange, and terrifying magic was about it, and if she must guess there was much,  _ much _ more hidden beneath the surface — something altogether terrible, something that spoke more of evil incarnated. 

It was ancient.  _ Demonic _ , even. Something Voldemort himself would have stayed away from; something that made her gut scream, her eyes fail, her ears ring, and her courage falter. 

Whatever feeling of trepidation she had felt when she had heard the basilisk roaming the halls in her second year — or when Sirius Black had first broken into Hogwarts — or when she had appeared in that old graveyard in Little Hangleton; it was nothing compared to whenever she felt the presence of  _ it _ . 

She refused its teachings. 

But still she learned. 

Armies and atrocities, death and decay, these were the things she was being used for. This evil wasn’t stripping her selfhood simply to spite her, as Voldemort might’ve done (she wondered if he even could).

It was to create something from her, and it was put already into motion. 

Her hair no longer glowed like flame or swayed in the wind like the leaves of autumn. Thick and voluminous it may have remained, but its fire was left extinguished.

Now, wreathed around her head and reaching down to her waist, was black; black like the deepest shadow, from where this evil must’ve warped itself into existence. And Lilith the Black she was to be called; for her name had not been suitable for a servant of darkness — too soft and weak it was called — and something more belonging to the menace of Dol Guldur would have to do. 

Time passed and they kept her chained as she was taught and tortured. And nearly once she broke free of her shackles and escaped, but there was always a watchful Eye on her and if anything, the near-escape came close to breaking her than anything the evil Eye did. 

It remained a painful reminder that her small moment of happiness was ripped away abruptly, that the tentative blossom of hope she had let in was so easily swept away and back into the void, whence it might never return. 

The void which seemed to beckon her. 

Whether it was to ensnare her or give her relief she did not know, yet so far within did the evil of this place reach that not a day passed where she did not almost answer its summon, give in to the call of the void.

Yet, with time there comes also weariness and defeat. 

And so, in the end, it seemed Lily fell into darkness, and from her shadow rose Lilith the Black, just as the Dark Lord and his Nazgûl had anticipated. 

But they were all of them deceived. 

For in the depths of her mind she hid herself, beyond the darkest corner of thoughts, deep, deep, deep in naught but shadows of memories. 

 


	2. From the Shadows Risen

Ominous was the right word for it, for the grey sky and its dark clouds. They belonged not to the typical gloomy day, but told of a coming storm. Yet they moved along, oblivious of the troubles of the world as Lily had been before torn away from her mental haven, as though fished out from the peaceful depths of a sea finished finally with its wrath.

So though her mind may have been full of chaos as she woke, around her was calm. Only the sound of wind was in her ears. She pushed herself up, slowly, wary of either injuries or enemies, and looked around. Recognition broke through her mess of thoughts: this was the top of Dol Guldur. But what she saw stayed her rising panic.

The fortress's tallest tower was no more. Rubble lay where it had once stood, the dust long settled. Orcs and wargs were scattered about, some half-buried, most dirtied or coated in grey matter, but all dead. All that was near her were pieces of wood, pale and shattered.

Relief washed over her. She couldn't remember anything; not how she came to be here nor what else might've happened between then and now; but she was at least alone. Solitude was the best one could hope for in Dol Guldur. It had been why she had retreated into her mind, which was at the moment aching the more she tried to remember anything.

As she further probed her mind, though, there surfaced memories of a sort — or rather feelings, distant and difficult to grasp. Middle-earth... yes, she had learned of Middle-earth, but not much past what it was. Certainly not the geography. Yet, thinking of it now brought up some semblance of the surrounding land. This she knew she had not learned while imprisoned.

When she thought of Dol Guldur and what lay west of it, for instance, dread clutched at her heart. There was something formidable there, something powerful, and she knew she would avoid it, choosing instead to head east. To the south there were barren lands. Or she would go north, for her mind told her there was familiarity and something like comfort there.

How these feelings came about she could only guess, but those guesses were disturbing. The Shadow had wanted to make her like a Nazgûl, corrupted and devoid of free will. Had this happened? Had her retreat into her mental refuge allowed the being to use her and her magic? Perhaps the thing possessing her became learned in the world of Middle-earth, and now that Lily was back, once again in control of her body, some shadow of those memories remained.

Whether or not this was the case, it still raised the question of how she was back, for Lily did not come back on purpose; she had been torn from her slumber.

And now she came to her senses, and felt a faint fear still remaining. Not of the confusion that comes with waking somewhere not wholly familiar, or not knowing how it is one got there, but of something else entirely. Something quite unnatural.

Lily knew, then, what must have woken her.  _They_  were coming.

Even from afar she could feel the Nazgûl and their unholiness. Perhaps their master was not here, likely not even amongst them, but she knew that without her wand she would be defeated utterly. Captured again and cast once more into the shadows if she stayed much longer.

She scrambled to her feet at the thought, nearly tripping on her black cloak, and then again on a body. Carefully she made her way through the maze of dead and stone, hoping none were still alive, waiting to suddenly attack.

After reaching the edge of the fortress, she saw that the hill it was built upon might've been close to being called a mountain with its immensity. The forest down below felt a mile away. And the forest itself stretched on for what must've been hundreds of miles in all directions but one: the west, where great mountains stood tall and proud against rolling clouds.

Then, before she could retreat from her vulnerable position, four dark figures emerged from the trees, cloaked in black. Terror swept up the hill, across the stone, and into Lily's very being, which ached in a way she had never experienced; she had never felt her soul before, but now it was unmistakable in its woe.

The Nazgûl saw her. Shrieks pierced the air, and they wasted no time in rushing up and into some kind of hidden passages laid into the hill itself, which had many more bodies lying upon it.

Then she remembered: it was not the Nazgûl that had prevented her from Apparating before, but the magic of their master, who was indeed not there with them; she would've felt it.

Before she spun on the spot, she looked down to the tree line and memorized it. She could not Apparate far, as she knew no other land, but it would take the Nazgûl by surprise, would let her flee into the forest before they realized she was gone. Once she was confident about it, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoped she wouldn't Splinch herself, then spun and vanished into the Void.

There came the familiar feeling of being squeezed through the smallest tube, but it wasn't only a moment as it should have been. It lasted far too long, and when it was done she did not land on dirt, or stone, or anything.

Instead, she floated in nothing, as though suspended in space, unable to feel anything but herself, hearing only her heavy breathing. Panic rose in her, and this time nothing she saw held it down, for she could see nothing and that itself was distressing. She could not move from her spot, not even if she flailed her limbs. It was truly as though she was in space. But there were no stars, no light, no distant memories like there had been in her mind, no anything.

Yet she did not feel alone.

Something else was near, something colossal lurking in the black, and she could feel it rising and rising, coming closer, curious, a kind of power that made the Shadow's own just that: a shadow of the full thing.

And then out of the pitch blackness there came something even darker in hue. Shaped like an enormous hand, each finger larger than her, though she could barely comprehend the color, for it seemed almost like one she had never seen before, something she shouldn't have been able to process yet was being forced through her eyes and into her mind, and if she saw any more she'd surely go insane with horror —

She Disapparated before it grasped her.

Though eased of wherever she had just been, the old terror came onto her as she Apparated back where she had left, and right by a Nazgûl.

It gave its terrible high-pitched cry as it swung around to face her, and her soul wailed in response, an agonizing feeling deep within her that she could not explain — or begin to process, for the Nazgûl went for its blade and so Lily was upon it before it could draw the sword, clutching at its arms with desperation.

Eyes closed tight from the torture, she managed to break out of her chaotic mess of thoughts enough to scream, " _Incendio_!"

Flames sprang from her hands, setting the Nazgûl ablaze — and in the pain and confusion, the two were unbalanced and pushed over the edge of where they stood.

Down they fell, like a screaming ball of flame, quickly extinguishing from the rushing wind. The ground rushed up to meet her first — Lily pulled herself around, arms burning — " _Molliare_!  _Molliare_!" — but it was wandlessly and in the moment and on a Nazgûl and she had no idea if it would work —

The Nazgûl hit the dirt first. There was a sickening sound of a body breaking and before Lily could wonder if the Cushioning Charms had worked, they were rolling down the rest of the hill, together, each crying their pains in the other's ear.

Finally, they came to a stop at the bottom, covered in dirt. Her body ached and her arms seared in pain, which made no sense; the flames should have torched only the Nazgûl, as they were of  _her_  creation and  _her_  magic — but now was not the time for seeking explanations — she remained in danger — and the Nazgûl beneath her still stirred. What these wretched abominations could be if they could survive such a fall...

Time was of the essence. Again she ignited her hands, and she threw them into the wraith's hood. Its screech was deafening; and as she dug her flaming fingers into its unseen flesh, new pain was upon her. Her hands felt the fire, though they shouldn't — and when the Nazgûl brought its own onto her arms to pull her away, they too began to burn again — and there Lily realized it was not her flames burning her, but the touch of the Nazgûl itself. She pulled back, unable to bear it any longer.

The stench of burnt skin was in the air. Quirrell swam to the front of her mind then, and she wondered briefly if her first and last kill would be by fire; she felt as though she might drop dead at any moment.

But she did not. Instead the shattered body beneath her crumpled, and from its flattened robes rose a true wraith, as Lily had known them to be, black and eldritch. Its cry rent the air, heavy and shuddering, and then it faded and was lost in the wind and shrill wailing of the other Nazgûl.

They knew she had killed one of their own, and they were in a rage, ready to bring vengeance down upon her. If one had nearly defeated her, and victory came only by a fall from a great height, then what chance did she have surviving the remaining?

Knees shaking, she stood. Her energy had already been drained from her; such was the power of the Nazgûl. She regained it only when the others went back into the tunnels in an attempt to reach her. With the stone and dirt between them, she found her courage and into the forest she fled, her soul weeping along the way.

Legs, lungs, chest, and soul burning, she ran — darting between trees — jumping over roots — ducking below low-hanging branches — and venturing further into the menace of Mirkwood.

Though she nearly collapsed a few times from the trauma of the roll down the hill, Lily didn't tire as soon as she would have expected. Lilith the Black had kept her in shape, it seemed, and for that, at least, she could thank her corrupted self.

Only when she was sure the Nazgûl were far behind did she at last slow and rest, falling against a tree and panting. It had been a long time since she had ran like this, and her throat begged for comfort. Bringing her cupped hands to her lips, Lily whispered to her palms.

" _Aguamenti_...  _Aguamenti_...  _Aguamenti_..."

Water rose from her skin, fresh and heavenly to her cracked lips and dry throat. She took a moment to marvel as she drank, too, at how easily wandless magic was coming to her. Perhaps another feat of Lilith the Black. Witch-Queen indeed. Or perhaps it was just her. She had practiced much wandless magic during the hunt for Horcruxes, when her wand had been broken and only Hermione's remained.

Tears then fell into her palms, salting the water.  _Hermione_.

Fear and confusion had consumed Lily so deeply that Hermione hadn't crossed her mind for what felt like years now. Not her, not Hogwarts. Now she longed for Earth. Not Middle-earth, but the place she had been born in, lived in, torn from. She couldn't remember how it had happened, how she had come to this evil, evil place.

Maybe uncertainty wouldn't weigh so heavily on her shoulders if Hermione were here — if anyone were. Alone and ignorant of  _so much_ , Lily had no idea of how she could get back to her own home, if it was possible. Her best hope was that Middle-earth was nothing more than a large pocket dimension parallel to the normal world, but something in her gut told her this was not the case. She was indeed in another world, alone, wandless, and it made her want to both sob and vomit.

It would not do, however, to continue being so loud in a dark forest such as this. Mirkwood smelled something foul, felt fouler, and Lily had already made enough racket with her dash through its thickets. But she didn't feel quite safe yet. An hour might be all the Nazgûl needed to catch up, to find her, to drag her back to that nightmare.

Lily brought herself back to her feet, ignoring her aching and stinging arms and legs, and continued north, toward that strange feeling of comfort the direction brought her.

There were odd noises in the undergrowth she slogged through, and beneath the leaves piled endlessly thick on the floor; she could not make out what they belonged to. All this and the still and stuffy air made even Lily feel claustrophobic — and she had grown up in a cupboard under the stairs. It didn't help that thoughts of all that had happened since waking clouded her.

Wandless magic, Middle-earth, Mirkwood, Dol Guldur, the Nazgûl... They had been called wraiths by the orcs, and wraiths in her own world were bodiless. But she supposed they had to have bodies, or they wouldn't be able to wear robes or wield blades in the first place. And did it really matter anyway? She had killed one. There was one less thing to hunt her down.

The day wasted away, the few beams of sunlight peeking through the treetops dimming and then disappearing. Night came, and with it an oppressive darkness, gliding through the forest until she could not see even her own hands. The creatures became quiet, too. With the stuffy air and the heavy silence, it became altogether suffocating, and she was left believing this world as a whole was tainted with evil, and that perhaps this was her Hell; a punishment for her failures.

She banished all thoughts of it, for the thoughts of demons had always unsettled her, especially since learning of magic, but still she remained wary. It was far too dark around her for her liking. So, with a deep breath to calm herself, she attempted to cast Bluebell Flames in one hand. Only on the third try did the spell work, and even then the light did not reach far. Really, all it did was cause the shadows to flicker and appear as though they were moving.

It made her all the more uncertain, but she kept it aflame anyway, for it gave warmth without burn and a deterrent to all things lurking in the dark. She hoped. Still, it wasn't good enough. Weariness was dragging her toward sleep, but she wished to get one last look at her surroundings.

So she whispered to her other hand, " _Lumos_ ," but no light came. Once more, and still the spell failed. It was her fourth try when something happened, when she pictured the spell in another way, not at the tip of her finger but deeper.

Beginning in her palm, beneath her skin, a glow came to life. It was a deep red, her blood lit as though by a torch. But it was still not enough, so Lily said the incantation once more; this time she risked saying it louder, " _Lumos_!" and behold!

Her entire hand blazed like molten metal, illuminating her immediate surroundings clearly — and the light was reflected in the many sets of eyes around her. Cold shot down her spine, like an icy spider crawling its way down her back and leaving webs in place to straighten it... All sorts of creatures were watching, some likely rodents, and some insects but with eyes far larger than any insect had a right to have.

Then they all blinked, as though startled, and shifted, as though looking elsewhere, and then vanished. There were no more reflections. Only darkness remained. There was only one conclusion as to why. Something had scared them off. And if she herself hadn't been enough, then what was? Was it here still? Nothing rushed out to attack her. Yet. Lily crouched down beside a tree. Any moment now... but moments passed... and still nothing showed itself.

It was silent; in her attempt to make out something —  _anything_ — Lily almost thought she saw a tree move.

In the end, with the Four-Point Spell tugging her arm in the right direction, she continued north. She wound in and out amongst the trees, never able to walk straight for any appreciable amount of time.

The hurt in her soul began to lessen eventually, which was somewhat comforting regarding the eyes she felt on her back. There was something indeed following her in these woods, but at least it was no longer the Nazgûl.

"Might not be a Nazgûl," she grumbled, "but with my luck there'll be a bloody dragon in the bushes."

There was no dragon in the bushes, but there was darkness some steps later. Beyond a couple of trees, her light began to fade into an impenetrable, blank black. Resisting the urge to light up the whole forest with fire, she gave it a minute or two... prepared for anything... but it remained quiet and calm, and so she move into it, but warily, despite its apparent lack of malevolence.

Upon entering it, she also exited, for the reason her light had not reached any trees was that this was the end of them; she had at last broken free of Mirkwood.

Above her were stars. Not so bright that they illuminated anything, but all over the sky nonetheless. They weren't her stars either, but indeed of another world. She could recognize none of them, and she had spent years in Astronomy class.

At this, Lily became dismayed, heartbroken, and she settled herself between two roots of the nearest tree — just in case the Nazgûl came, so she could disappear into the forest again if need be. Though she was fairly certain she would fight them to the death if they came, and be done with this madness, this world, this forest, the darkness of which somehow hung over the land beyond it.

A Cushioning Charm or two and her spot became relatively comfortable. Not like a proper wizard's bed, but good enough. She slung her cloak on top of herself, and muttered spells upon it as well: the Muggle-Repelling, Shield, Silencing, and Impervius Charms. She was fairly positive not a single one had worked other than the Impervius Charm, and that only seemed to work specifically on the parts her hands had run over; she tested this by conjuring water and letting it spill on the cloak, only sections of which remained dry.

But it was all her tired mind could think to do now. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might've been able to come up with more creative protections, but what she had now worked well — hidden partly in a tree, a charmed cloak over her, and that would, she hoped, be enough. When she woke, she would then further decide what to do regarding her whole situation. Sleep was needed now, though, and so she fell into dreams.

Vague dreams, never showing her a full picture: she dreamt of a black tower, taller than any skyscraper she had ever seen; of blistering heat and old men in blue; of the sea, of a great ship and great winds, a long voyage across water; of an island and something like peaceful loneliness; of lands frozen and ruined, and a wearying journey across them; of the cries of eagles, the shadows of mountains, and that which loomed within.

And when morning came and she opened her eyes blearily, she found her cloak had slipped off, and standing in front of her was a man, old and odd, brown hair and beard greying, leaning on a wooden staff.

"Good morning," he said smiling, as though there was quite nothing wrong about it.

Lily set him on fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Not that it’s much important, but here are the translations for the Black Speech parts:
> 
> Lilith uth Mor = Lilith the Black
> 
> Gashn tug amukh gashn-u, skessa! = Speak only when spoken to, woman!
> 
> Agh gashn tug izubu Burz Laam! = And speak only our Dark Tongue!
> 
> Daka lat = Kill you
> 
> Uth Nazgûl ath katu = The Nazul are here
> 
> Skriki, Lilith un Mor, skriki = Scream, Lilith the Black, scream!


End file.
